


A Fatal Addiction

by Ambereyedwolfchild



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Implied one sided, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-01
Updated: 2013-03-01
Packaged: 2017-12-03 23:56:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/704107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ambereyedwolfchild/pseuds/Ambereyedwolfchild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian is captured and interrogated on his boss' whereabouts after Reichenbach. It seems the only person who truly believes Jim is dead is the one man that would do everything and anything to get him back.</p>
<p>For my English Literature controlled assessment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Fatal Addiction

**Author's Note:**

> Reuploaded because AO3 kept erasing the other one from existence for some reason.

_**A Fatal Addiction** _

I don’t know how they caught me. I must be getting sloppy. Y’know I can almost hear you in the back of my head, chastising me for making you come and save me. _Silly tiger_ , you’d say,  _should have known better than to get caught_. I guess I didn’t realise how often you saved my skin until you weren’t there to do it. You’re not coming this time, and that’s okay, boss. I’m okay. You probably don’t care… if you cared you’d be here. If I live there’ll be some permanent damage, and they’re gonna scar. You wouldn’t like that. You don’t like anyone leaving marks on your pets. That’s your job. But I don’t think I’m going to survive this one. I think my time’s come. They’re coming back. I can hear footsteps. That’s all. I can’t see for shit, they’ve got me blindfolded and hog tied like the unlucky sods I used to bring you when you got bloodthirsty and bored. They’re talking to me. Asking me questions. They want to know how I started working for you. Should I tell ‘em, boss? No. Of course not. I know what to say. Exactly what you told me to.

 

  **“The King is dead, long live the King."**

They didn’t seem to like that answer. Well they can take it or leave it; it’s all they’re getting from me. I can hear you whispering to me- _Good boy, ‘Bastian. Good boy_.- in that same stupid tone as always. Not affection, sentimentality is a weakness after all, just taunting and possessive. If you were here you’d have that stupid smirk on your face and you’d ruffle my hair like I was a well behaved puppy. I’m not your pet, boss, never will be. They’ve got a different question now, I suppose they’re too stupid to realise I’m not going to tell them shit. They want to know what I did for you. Asking about the job. Isn’t that obvious? Isn’t that why I’m here? Second most dangerous man in London, ask anyone and they’ll tell you. But I suppose I’m not anymore…  with you gone I must be the most dangerous man in London. I don’t want to be. With you gone, I don’t think I’m anything anymore… Huh. You’re a figment of my imagination and I can still hear you scoffing. I’m not being sentimental, boss. Promise. It’s the truth, and you would never hear anything but the truth from me. The most dangerous men in London they called us. The King and his Tiger. You made sure that was all I was. Loyal and vicious and yours. You insisted on being my whole world, and you were, so now I have nothing. I am nothing. I wish I could say I mind. They’re getting angry now. It’s no use, they don’t scare me. If I can live with you for so long then I don’t think there’s anything that could scare me. They won’t get the answer they want from me.

 

**“The King is dead, long live the King.”**

They didn’t like that at all. I suppose they think if they hit me enough I’ll bleed out the truth. They can try. Pain is my business, my friend. The only friend I have. Pain keeps me sharp and keeps me alert. Pain tells me that I’m alive, whether I like it or not. They won’t shut up but it’s harder to hear them. The words are fuzzy, like I’m underwater. Oh. They’re taunting me. Maybe I should tell them not to waste their breath. I imagine it would just be a waste of mine. They’re calling me loyal, imagine that. I’m not loyal, that’s absurd. Loyalty is overrated and weak. I’m not loyal to you. I hate you, or at least most of the time I do. I’m not loyal to you. I’m addicted. You were the ultimate adrenaline rush and I’m a junkie. You made me stop drinking, stop smoking. I suppose you couldn’t have anyone but yourself being in control of my mind. You didn’t need to worry. No amount of alcohol can replicate the fire in my veins and the ice in my heart when I was stood by your side, ruling the world. Trust me, I’ve tried. I guess this is what it’s like to quit cold turkey. The withdrawal and the emptiness. I hate you, but god, I would do anything to get you back. I’m not loyal, I’m an addict. Blood and pain and darkness are my vices and you were my drug. I can’t hear them properly. I don’t know what they’re asking. There’s blood in my ears, in my mouth. It’s like I’m drowning in it, hot and coppery and burning. I can hear you, feel you. It’s like you’re stood behind me; I can feel your hand on my shoulder, feel you pulling my hair like a petulant child tugging a cat’s tail for attention. Phantom touches for a phantom soul. What are they saying, boss? I bet you know. You know everything, or so you thought. I thought so too.  ~~I bet you knew how I feel about you~~. No matter what I asked, you knew the answer. You could see through secrets and lies without so much as a batted eyelid.  They’re very insistent. I don’t think they know I can’t hear them anymore.  Maybe it doesn’t matter. No matter what the question is the answer is always the same; will always be the same; even spat through a bloody grimace.

 

**“The King is dead, long live the King.”**

I don’t think I’m going to last much longer, boss. It hurts too much. I suppose I’ll see you again eventually. Hope you’ve not replaced me yet, or I’ll have to kill off the competition. Even the King of Hell needs a right hand man and it won’t be long until I’m down there with the rest of the Earth’s scum. And you, if you’re there. Are you? They’ve stopped trying to hurt me now, it’s no use. I’m dead, gone, finished. I’m just waiting for my brain to get the message. One last question, frantic and screamed into my ear. That one I heard. They asked if you’re alive, boss. They want to know if you’re alive, if this is one of your games. Honestly… I wish I knew the answer.  ~~I miss you.~~

 

**Is it possible for a room to be silent and deafeningly loud at the same time? If it is, then that is the silence that filled the dank basement room. Voices and grunts and yells all clamouring for attention as they circled a beaten figure. Colonel Sebastian Moran, most dangerous man in London, was slumped forward; held up only by the ropes pinning him to a chair. Blonde hair, streaked with brutally bright stripes of red blood, fell across a sweat slick forehead and obscured half lidded green eyes. The usually piercing emerald colour was clouded and distant, as if there was nothing there anymore. There was a clatter, breaking the tense atmosphere in the room in one swift blow, as the chair toppled backwards onto the floor and took the prone Colonel with it. A gasp was ripped from split lips as he struggled for air, lungs constricting as if there was an iron band around his chest. “T-th-“ he tried to speak, breathing heavy and each sound flecked with blood. “The King i-is-” A flood of… something burst into his eyes. It looked like fire and ice, like resignation and defiance, like power and knowledge and for a moment the man seemed as fierce as the tigers he had hunted. He tipped his head back- looking up at something, someone, that only he could see. The corners of his lips quirked, the pain not enough to stop a wry smile as he let his eyes fall closed.**

**“The King is dead, long live the King.”**

**It was nothing but a breathy whisper, his final defiance to the world that he’d once helped conquer, and it was his last. Colonel Sebastian Moran was no more. London didn’t need him anymore, but there was someone who did. He wasn’t a pet, and he wasn’t loyal. It was an addiction, and a fatal one too, but nevertheless he would always follow his King.**

**Even into Hell.**


End file.
